


Oven Roasted Butternut Squash Soup

by amaradangeli



Series: We Made It [14]
Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: Cooking, Episode: s05e11 Desperate Measures, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-09
Updated: 2017-03-09
Packaged: 2018-10-01 16:08:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,164
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10193639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amaradangeli/pseuds/amaradangeli
Summary: So, he'd been shot.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Artwork by Samantha-Carter-is-my-muse

So, he'd been shot. 

She didn't fuss over him while they were out in the field, but she was puttering around in his kitchen "making dinner" while he was sat on the couch listening to her faint curses filter down into the living room. He chuckled to himself slightly as he heard the oven door creak open, another curse pepper the air, and then the slamming of said oven door. 

"Everything okay?" he called out. 

"Fine," she said sharply. She must have considered her tone, though, because a moment later she appeared in his line of sight. "Everything's fine. I haven't set the kitchen on fire. But we might be eating later than I anticipated." 

She looked so chagrined that, and he was so happy to have her back – the fact that he'd gone a whole weekend without talking to her and had allowed her to be held hostage for so long was an internal issue that he'd yet to fully work out – that he reached out for her and snagged her hand with his good, un-shot side. 

She came willingly and settled next to him on the couch. He'd said sex wouldn't change things between them much, but he was pleased to discover that he was wrong on one very important count: she was much more openly affectionate with him now and it was a side of her he'd never truly hoped to see, a side he wasn't sure existed. Not that he'd ever thought her cold, just... reserved. 

"I can help, you know," he reminded her. 

"There's nothing to be done besides wait," she said with a shrug. She tucked herself into his side. 

He wanted to apologize to her, but he didn't want to cause her to do any more thinking about the situation she'd seemed to put so fully behind her. She was doing okay, she said, and he had no reason to doubt her. She did _seem_  okay. 

"Stay tonight?" 

She nuzzled his shoulder with her cheek. "I shouldn't." 

He sighed; he knew that. 

She caressed his chest with a long, slow stroke. "You know I want to." 

But the truth was, they'd have dinner, then maybe they'd have sex, and then she'd get dressed and go home. Careful to not have her car parked outside his house overnight. The once was enough and could be fairly easily explained away. But twice? Or more? No, there was no way around it. If they wanted to be together all night then they were going to have to find another way.  

He smoothed a hand down her bicep and pulled her in tight against him. "You sure there's nothing I can help you with?" 

"Positive. I'm not guaranteeing the quality of dinner, but I do guarantee that it'll be sustenance." 

"Way to sell it," he said, unable to squelch a smile at her expense. 

She leaned up and pressed a kiss against the corner of his mouth. It was just enough to make him want her more than was his baseline desire. Once she'd settled back into his side he pulled her, once more, tightly into him. He'd forgotten, he was surprised to discover, how nice it was to just exist with someone. In the little moments, to touch and be touched, he found a solace that he'd not even realized he was missing. 

It helped that his connection with her was so strong that even the most tenuous of connections to her felt bolstering. But this, having her anchored to him, was like filling up, fuelling up for later, for those times when she wasn't so near. Too often, those times, he lamented privately. He'd never guilt her into making herself more available – they were both doing the best they could. 

It was why he'd gone an entire weekend without talking to her, it was why he hadn't known so much sooner that she'd been taken. He'd had a weekend with Cassie and the girl was nothing if not perceptive and she would have noticed right away if Jack had somehow changed how he interacted with Sam. So he was careful to avoid her for those days. And then, when he had, something dreadful had happened to her. 

He wasn't blaming himself, exactly, because he hadn't done anything wrong. As a matter of fact, he'd done precisely what they'd agreed to. But that didn't make him feel less troubled for leaving her in the clutches of a madman for too many days. And then, to make matters worse, in rescuing her, he had to go and get himself shot. A fact which made her none-too-happy. She'd let him have it when she'd first arrived at his house that evening. 

And it was a testament to how far gone he was that he found her ire and her anger endearing. He'd capitulated to her need to dress him down despite both of them knowing that there was little that could have been done to change the outcome of the day. And while he still suspected it was that rat Maybourne that shot him, he'd have asked for his help even knowing the outcome. She was that important to him. 

She was quickly becoming everything to him. Program be damned. He wanted her and he wanted her completely, didn't want some farce of togetherness that they play acted at a handful of times a year when things got to be too much. Having her but not having her was grating on his already exposed nerves. 

But he knew how she felt about the work and he'd never, ever jeopardize her sure to be incredible career. They could hold out, he'd make sure of it, until the timing was right to change the rules of their relationship. 

"What are you thinking about?" She asked him quietly and he realized he'd been silent for a long time. 

It was a question that might have rankled him when he was younger, or maybe if it had come from a different source but currently he found himself pleased that she was tuned into him enough to tell the difference between his 'I'm thinking' silence and his 'quiet time' silence. 

"Us. What later looks like." 

"Later looks like the cabin," she said so wistfully it made his chest tighten. 

"One day," he promised her. 

The timer went off in the kitchen and she pushed herself slowly off his chest. "That timer is wrong, but I'll go check on dinner anyway. 

"I'm not going anywhere." 

She looked at him fondly. "Yeah. Me either." 

As she made her way into the kitchen he settled back into the couch, the smell of her perfume clinging to his shirt warring with the delicious smell of roasted butternut squash. He may not get to have her all the time – not yet – but he wasn't going to discount these moments he did get. They were good. They were right. They were a taste of things to come. And he was a starving man. 


End file.
